Snowflakes
by only-more-love
Summary: They say no two are exactly alike. This is a series of Bones oneshots. The latest is set in 6x22, after the scene we didn't see on-screen.
1. Shoulda, Coulda, Woulda

**Title:** Shoulda, Coulda, Woulda  
**Series:** Snowflakes

**Character: **Seeley Booth  
**Rating:** K+ or PG**  
Spoilers: **Through 5x7: The Dwarf in the Dirt  
**Timeline:** Set in Season 5.  
**Word Count: **300  
**Prompt: ** Remember  
**Disclaimer:** Bones and its characters belong to FOX, not me. This story is purely meant to entertain. No copyright infringement is intended.  
**Summary: **Sometimes Booth finds it hard to pretend.  
**A/N: ** Snowflakes is a series of Bones oneshots. I have a 50scenes prompt table I claimed a gazillion years ago. Writing time is always at a premium these days, and on the random occasions when I have it (read: when my daughter naps), I'm finding it hard to find or create much inspiration. Too much pressure, maybe. Regardless, perhaps these will help.

If you read this, thank you. If you commented, thank you. Sometimes it's good to know I'm not shouting into the abyss. :)

***

**Shoulda, Coulda, Woulda**

Startled awake by another dream of a life he's never lived, Booth sighs and rolls onto his back, hands folding tightly under his head. He shivers, hard, beneath the heavy down comforter draped over his body. The heat's on and Brennan always complains that his place is a touch too warm; right now Booth just feels cold.

On the outside and on the inside, ice.

Pretending with her is harder since the operation: Smile here; wink there; crack joke now. But he's watching himself do it, and it's all faking it till you make it. (He never makes it.) "We don't have time for this," he wants to say whenever she turns those blue-green eyes on him, "don't you get it? I could die. You could die. We're all going to die eventually..." Then what would his life be but a series of shoulda, coulda, woulda?

Waiting used to seem like the right thing to do. Patience and hope, he tries to remind himself, are what they need. Except that he remembers the weight of her on his lap, her arms around his neck, the curve of her smile against his mouth, sweeter and richer than his favorite apple pie. She smiles at him like that sometimes when they're sitting across from each other at the diner, and he has to shake his head to clear the sudden double-vision.

He's tired of mourning a life that was never his. He's tired of being alone. He's just so damn tired of wanting and wanting and never quite_ having_.

In a few hours he'll get up and be the good friend and partner he's supposed to be. For a few bittersweet minutes, he wants to remember how much more he could be.

Shutting his eyes, Booth tries to fall back asleep.


	2. My Heart Told My Head, This Time Yes

**Title:** My Heart Told My Head, "This Time Yes."  
**Series:** Snowflakes

**Characters: **Temperance Brennan, Seeley Booth  
**Rating:** K+ or PG**  
Spoilers: **Through 5x11: The X in the File  
**Timeline:**  
**Word Count: **300  
**Prompt: ** Night  
**Disclaimer:** Bones and its characters belong to FOX, not me. This story is purely meant to entertain. No copyright infringement is intended.  
**Summary: **A brief tag for 5x11: The X in the File.  
**A/N: ** Snowflakes is a series of Bones oneshots. I have a 50scenes prompt table I claimed a gazillion years ago. Writing time is always at a premium these days, and on the random occasions when I have it (read: when my daughter naps), I'm finding it hard to find or create much inspiration. Too much pressure, maybe. Regardless, perhaps these will help.

If you read this, thank you. If you comment, thank you. It's always good to hear what you thought. :)

***

**My Heart Told My Head, "This Time Yes."**

The headlights of their rental car cut a narrow swath ahead of them. Above them hovers only sky, an onyx swatch dotted with brilliant chips of quartz that illuminate the slash of Booth's jaw and transform the summits and valleys of his face into something vaguely mysterious and sublime in its unfamiliarity.

Yet their banter rolls over her with the unconscious ease of respiration. Inhale: he thrusts. Exhale: she parries. The windshield at her back carries the desert night's chill through the insulation of her jacket; she is not cold. Booth's body rests inches from hers -- warm, though they aren't touching, and just _present_, and Brennan permits herself the luxury of wondering, "What if...?"

What if she crossed into his space, breaching the infinite distance between her desire and their reality? Her mouth forms a sigh as she imagines kissing him, there, with nothing but the desert night and its secrets as witness, and the moment it changes from motion to sound, he instantly turns toward her.

"What?" He cocks an eyebrow.

"Nothing," she replies, with a small smile and a shrug, though she is certain he realizes it's a lie. She has never been one to compromise. But compromise, she's learning, forms the footholds of a relationship. Using her hands, she pushes herself closer to Booth. Her left hand slides through the curve of his right arm, like thread through a waxed needle. Slowly, so slowly, she brings her head to his shoulder. "This is...nice." Staring straight ahead into the darkness, she berates herself for the banality of her word choice.

Then Booth stirs, his chin brushing her head, stilling her self-doubt. "Yeah, it is." Simple words. But he is there; she is there; she peers at sky rather than sifting through soil. That means something, doesn't it?


	3. If Only

**Title:** If Only  
**Series:** Snowflakes

**Characters: **Angela Montenegro  
**Rating:** K+ or PG**  
Spoilers: **Through 5x12: The Proof in the Pudding  
**Word Count: **100  
**Prompt: **Regret  
**Disclaimer:** Bones and its characters belong to FOX, not me. This story is purely meant to entertain. No copyright infringement is intended.  
**Summary: **An Angela-centric tag for 5x12: The Proof in the Pudding  
**A/N: ** Snowflakes is a series of Bones oneshots. I have a 50scenes prompt table I claimed a gazillion years ago. Writing time is always at a premium these days, and on the random occasions when I have it (read: when my daughter naps), I'm finding it hard to find or create much inspiration. Too much pressure, maybe. Regardless, perhaps these will help.

If you read this, thank you. If you comment, thank you. It's always good to hear what you thought. :)

***

**If Only  
**

Angela steps into her apartment. She drops her keys on the kitchen counter and allows her feet to carry her to the room that currently serves as her studio. At the lab last night, she hadn't had time to do a sketch. But she saw it: a mural of blues and greens on the back wall, by the crib--

She should shower. She climbs into bed, turns onto her side. Her hand wants to rest on her stomach; she doesn't let it.

It would have been the wrong guy. It would have been the wrong time. It would have been...


	4. Risk Management

**Title:** Risk Management  
**Prompt:** Heed

Which came first, the chemical reaction or the emotion? The fowl (_chicken, Bones_) or the egg? Taxonomy matters; to a scientist, how could it not?

But it is not the sole matter of importance here.

Even scientists feel.

After all your questions, after all your exhortations for proof, there exists this knowledge: the small spot on his chin where skin fought steel and the latter won, is beautiful. As beautiful to you in its perfect imperfection (paradoxes cause you less discomfort now; even bone remodels in response to micro-damage) -- as essential to your understanding of how the world works, as the incontrovertible way in which bone fits against bone.

You love him.

But you are not Angela, with her unshakable belief that love conquers all. Temperance Brennan. _Joy Keenan._ Russ Brennan. _Kyle Keenan_. Matthew Brennan._ Max Keenan_. Christine Brennan._ Ruth Keenan_. Empty safe-deposit boxes. Unopened Christmas presents. Hot water; a broken dish; the trunk of a car.

Love did not conquer personal weakness. You do not wish to discover that it does not conquer personality differences, either.

So you will not press your lips to his tiny injury, murmuring soothing words. Instead, you will offer pretty toasts and exchange glances heavy with unfulfilled promise.

At least he will never look at you as though he would hate you if he could.


	5. If the Silence Takes You

**Title:** If the Silence Takes You  
**Prompt:** Silence  
**A/N: **To lurkers and commenters alike, thank you.

**If the Silence Takes You**

A leaf, brown-grey and dull, clenched in a pose of permanent agony, skitters across the marble. The kneeling woman brushes it off, eyes drier than the leaf. The stone's chill travels up through her arm and she shivers, shoulders hunched against November's cold breath.

She asks herself, again, why she comes. Rising to her feet, she slides her hands into her coat pockets. One hand curls around a blue plastic figurine. As her fingers tighten, the edges bite into her palm, returning her to herself.

She comes because he asked her to, a long, long time ago.

_When I inevitably drop dead before you, I'd like you to come out and, you know, spend some time and talk to me every once in a while.  
_  
A promise made should be kept, even if the person it was made to no longer exists. It is the only thing she can do for him now. But the words don't come easily. They never do, no matter how often she visits. Because trying to conjure his face in her mind isn't nearly the same as seeing it next to her in the driver's seat or across the table at the diner.

It's as if he took the words with him. Then again, he often complained about her use of "big words," she thinks, lips curved in something that might have passed for a smile if it weren't so bitter. "I...miss you," she finally says, speaking so quietly she can barely hear herself.

Pewter strands of hair push against her cheeks, catch in her mouth, as if moved there by invisible hands; if she were of a more romantic bent, she might think he was reaching out to her, sending her a message. But rationality does not allow for such flights of fantasy, and whatever romance had bloomed inside her, tended by his reverent hands, crumbled into the dirt with him.

If God exists, she should be able to hear his voice.

_Bones_, she wants to hear.

With her eyes closed, the only thing she can make out is the merciless wind. As with all the times before, disappointment swells and breaks inside her.

She turns to go, heels sinking into the wet earth. There is nothing of him here except for his bones. That could never be enough; not even for her.


	6. Giving Up Your Ghost

**Title:** Giving Up Your Ghost**  
Characters: **Original female character, Booth  
**Rating:** K+ or PG**  
Spoilers: **None  
**Notes:** Written for a prompt by vanima_luhta at the bitesize_bones comment fic meme.  
**Prompt: **Booth/Someone Not Brennan, "You grace me with your cold shoulder/Whenever you look at me and wish I was her" (Adele, Cold Shoulder)  
**Disclaimer:** Bones and its characters belong to FOX, not me. This story is purely meant to entertain. No copyright infringement is intended.  
**A/N: **To lurkers and commenters alike, thank you.

**Giving Up Your Ghost  
**  
Booth,

Time is supposed to heal everything. Or so they say. Whoever "they" are.

That's a lie; one people tell themselves and their friends when they don't know what else to say.

You were honest with me from the start. It's just that I didn't know then what I know now: I can't compete with a ghost.

We tried. It wasn't enough. Don't blame yourself; you did the best a man with half a heart could do.

I'm not your partner; just your wife. It's not your fault you couldn't let me both.

You think I don't notice the disappointment that creeps over your face when you roll over in bed in the morning and look at me -- and realize I'm not her. If only your kindness and your goodness and your body were enough. They're not. I've discovered I'm selfish; I want all of you.

You wear your grief like skin, and I wish I could get underneath.

I didn't know your Bones, and I don't know where she is. Despite everything, I hope she comes back to you. A man as good as you deserves that.

I'm tired.

Goodbye.

M.


	7. Kaleidoscope

**Title:** Kaleidoscope**  
****Characters: **Booth, Brennan  
**Rating:** T or PG-13**  
Spoilers: **Through 5x12:_ The Proof in the Pudding_ (if you squint really hard or can read my mind.) Otherwise, the time is undetermined.  
**Notes:** Written for a prompt by klutzy_girl at the bitesize_bones comment fic meme.  
**Prompt: **Booth/Brennan, dancing  
**Disclaimer:** Bones and its characters belong to FOX, not me. This story is purely meant to entertain. No copyright infringement is intended.  
**A/N: **To lurkers and commenters alike, thank you.

***

**Kaleidoscope**

"We are going out tonight. All of us. There's this new club -- fabulous music--"

"Angela," she says, cutting her off with an impatient sigh, "I have too much to do. My editor has requested numerous revisions for my manuscript. I haven't even started on them."

"Your revisions can wait. Your _life_ can't."

"My life certainly does not rest on my frequenting whatever establishment you're referring to."

"Bren."

One syllable; her name, spoken on a quiet breath. But the edge (of what? fear? grief?) makes her glance up from the report and look at her friend. "What is it, Ange?"

"Nothing." Her gaze skitters away, but her hand flutters to her waist, where it tugs on a slender chain belt that flashes silver. "I just... I need this, OK?"

The moment drifts on the low hum of her computer. She moors it with a slow nod. "All right," she says, regretting her earlier impatience, "if that's what you need." Pushing her chair back from her desk, she stands.

"It is." An emotion Brennan can't identify flickers near Angela's eyes and then vanishes. "Thank you."

xxxxxxxxxx

Booth hadn't wanted to go out tonight, but Angela could be damned persuasive when she wanted to be. He'd almost regretted it when Brennan walked in, wearing a dress that had clearly been designed by God -- to test him.

Now he's feeling pretty good. When's the last time he just let go? Scratching his head, he realizes he can't remember. Had to be sometime before the tumor and the surgery and shit, he doesn't want to think about any of that stuff right now.

He knows the second he throws back his last JD that this is the drink that's going to tip him out of buzzed and solidly into drunk. Sweet burn down, down, down into his gut. The empty glass sits on the bar with a satisfying thunk. A hand settles on Booth's arm, turns him around. "What the...?"

"Booth, I would like to dance with you."

It doesn't sound like a request. More like a command. S'ok. He's used to her trying to boss him around. Hell, he kinda sorta maybe even _likes_ it. Only a little. Damn, he's a whipped dog, he thinks, unable to muster up much disgust. Too bad they're not together. At least then there'd be some benefits. But friends, yes; benefits, no, sadly.

He should probably say no. He should probably get the hell out of this place and go home to sleep it off. He should, he should, he should... "OK, Bones," he says, and lets her drag him onto the dance floor, "since you asked so nicely."

They're in an ocean, a tide of people carrying them along, pushing his partner into him. He can't help it if his hands find her hips and then her back. It wouldn't be good to just let her fall.

The tall, black heels she's wearing put her at exactly his height. She exhales, her breath warm against his cheek and ear. He can't help it: he shivers. Brennan laughs and slides her hands up his chest, over his shoulders, around his neck.

The bass shakes the floor under Booth's feet and travels up through his legs, stomach, and chest, until his body is just one big vibration. Until he can barely remember he's a person, let alone that there's a fucking line.

What she's doing isn't dancing; it's hell on earth.

Their entire bodies press together, and she grinds against him until he's so hard he's afraid she knows it. "Bones..."

Her only answer is to grab his hand and try to force it higher on her back. Just above the small of her back, his fingers meet skin. Hot and damp just like... Booth groans and tries to pull away. _  
_  
Brennan touches his jaw, forcing him to look at her. Lights flash through the darkness of the club, haloing her hair and illuminating her face for a split-second. Not long; just long enough. Those eyes; bluegreengray. His girl has kaleidoscope eyes...

She's not his girl.

"Take me home, Booth."

_Yes_.


	8. Open Wounds

**Title:** Open Wounds **  
Characters: **Booth, Brennan  
**Rating:** K+ or PG**  
Spoilers: **Through all of Season 4. Takes place sometime in Season 5.  
**Notes:** Written for a prompt by tempertemper77 at the bitesize_bones comment fic meme.  
**Prompt: **Booth/Brennan - Booth asks if Brennan still thinks about wanting a baby  
**Disclaimer:** Bones and its characters belong to FOX, not me. This story is purely meant to entertain. No copyright infringement is intended.  
**A/N: **To lurkers and commenters alike, thank you.

***

**Open Wounds **

**Open Wounds  
**  
Friday afternoon unfurled in all its lazy glory, and Booth had convinced Brennan to join him for a late, park-side lunch. A breeze swirled around them, carrying with it the damp-earth smell of early spring. Booth inhaled deeply and let the corners of his mouth kick up in a little smile as strands of Brennan's hair blew away from her face and toward his.

The roast beef and cheddar sandwich he'd just finished had really hit the spot. With a contented sigh, he crumpled up the foil wrapper and tossed it into the paper bag sitting at his feet, before leaning back against the wooden bench, arms loosely crossed over his very happy stomach. He turned his head to watch Brennan put her half-eaten vegetable panini neatly back in its wrapper and set it down next to her. "You're not gonna finish that?"

"No." She shook her head but didn't turn, gazing straight ahead instead. "I suppose I'm just not very hungry today."

"You sure?" He raised an eyebrow. "'Cause we could pick up something else on our way back--"

"Booth," she said, voice knife-sharp, though her face was still turned away, "I believe I already stated that I'm not hungry. I don't need you to..." Her voice trailed off abruptly as she glanced down at her lap, eyebrows drawn together, fingers plucking at a loose button on her jacket.

Surprised by her sudden show of aggression, Booth resisted the knee-jerk impulse to fire back with something equally snippy. That might have been how they were with each other when they started out as partners, but time had definitely mellowed them both.

Waiting, he watched Brennan straighten in her seat and stare back across the park. What was it she found so interesting?

A small child with dark, curly hair took one halting step forward, and then another, toward a tall woman, whose delighted laughter drifted toward them as she swept the child up into her arms. Those days with Parker were long gone, Booth thought with more than a touch of sadness, his baby having grown into a boy seemingly overnight. Happy memories, but memories all the same. Brennan sat still and silent beside him.

"Do you... Do you still want a baby?" he asked, all desire to engage in a battle of words now gone. A sparrow in the short grass ahead of them hopped toward a forgotten crumb of bread.

Her mouth trembled then firmed. "No."

Hearing her lie -- to him, of all people, hurt. But he'd lied to her, too, when he told her he loved her in a professional way. What the hell did that even mean? "It's OK if you do, Bones. You know, we can talk about it if--"

"What don't you understand, Booth?" Her furious gaze snapped to his. "I am _not_ hungry. I do _not_ want another sandwich. And I do _not_ want to have a child. In fact," she said, raising her hands in front of her, fingers splayed wide, "let me remind you, since you seem to have forgotten, that the last time I wanted to be a parent, I badgered you for your sperm, and all that time it turned out that you were ill." She folded her hands in her lap and looked away again, breathing hard.

"Hey, stop--" The sandwich that had tasted so good a few minutes ago had tripled in weight, sitting heavily in his stomach as he digested the reason for her outburst.

"You had a brain tumor," she added, continuing as if she hadn't heard him. "I should have known something was wrong. I should have seen it. But I was too caught up in my own selfish desire to have a child."

Booth had heard enough. He had no idea how long she'd made herself responsible for not catching his tumor; now that he knew, it wasn't going to continue for a second longer. There was no way he was going to let her feel guilty about this. "Stop." Angling his body toward her, he grasped her shoulders. "None of that was your fault. None of it. You hear me?"

"You're wrong, Booth." She sniffed, eyes shimmering, and he wanted to kick himself for not having realized sooner what she was doing to herself. His partner had things covered in the bone-reading department; he was supposed to be able to read people.

Tightening his hands, he gave her a slight shake. "No, I'm not. Listen to me, Bones. Being a genius does not give you superpowers; you can't see into my head." Sighing, he released her shoulders and brushed the backs of his fingers over her cheek, and wished that he could do more. That she would let him do more. That he would let himself do more. "If anyone could, it'd be you."

This coaxed a glimmer of a smile from her. Their eyes met, and she tilted her head, leaning her face into his hand. Or maybe he just imagined it; because he wanted it to be true. So badly. Something small. Too small to even call a "moment." He'd take what he could get when it came to this woman.

Like every other moment they'd ever shared, it passed. Booth slowly withdrew his hand, eyes still on Brennan's face, even though she stared off into the distance, expression unreadable.

When Brennan spoke again, he had to strain to catch the quietly-spoken words. "It was selfish to ask you to father my child without _being_ a father in the way I know is important to you." She paused. "And I... I apologize for that," she added.

"You're allowed to want things, Bones. It makes you human," he replied, keeping his voice gentle. "And I meant what I said before: you'd make a great mom."

When Brennan didn't respond except to shift her gaze back across the park, Booth curved his arm around her shoulders and tucked her into his side. Together, they watched the tall woman settle the dark-haired child into a stroller.


	9. The Realest Thing

**Title:** The Realest Thing (1/1)**  
****Series:** Snowflakes**  
****Characters: **Brennan  
**Rating:** K+ or PG**  
Spoilers: **Through all of Season 5.  
**Timeline:** Post-5x22: The Beginning in the End.  
**Notes:** 100 words. Blink and you might miss them.  
**Disclaimer:** Bones and its characters belong to FOX, not me. This story is purely meant to entertain. No copyright infringement is intended.

**The Realest Thing**

Continents, oceans, disparate expectations divide them.

Yet she sees Booth everywhere: the jut of his laryngeal prominence as he throws his head back and laughs at something she said, something she hadn't intended to be humorous; the calm of his eyes as they meet hers over a coffee mug; the wide horizon of his shoulders hunching as she tells him she is not that woman.

Phantom fingers glide along her back, and she bites her lip, scolding herself for perceiving that which is not there.

Every evening she eats until she is full.

Every night she goes to bed hungry.


	10. If You Love Something, Set it Free

**Title:** If You Love Something, Set it Free (1/1)**  
****Series:** Snowflakes**  
****Characters: **Booth  
**Rating:** K+ or PG**  
Spoilers: **Through all of Season 5.  
**Notes:** I've a big case of lack of free time - and writer's block. But here are 126 words to grease the wheels.  
**Disclaimer:** Bones and its characters belong to FOX, not me. This story is purely meant to entertain. No copyright infringement is intended.

**If You Love Something, Set it Free**

He isn't running away. How can he run when his feet carry the weight of all those dreams, the ones that used to be unspoken? If he could just make her see; if he could just make her understand. He's that guy, and he so desperately wants her to be that woman. His woman. Not a possession. Never that.

It's just - he's so tired of being two steps ahead of her. Either she'll catch up to him, or she won't. But he can't stand next to something so beautiful and not touch. Not anymore.

He told her, damn it. He told her, and she still said no. Sometimes you gamble and you lose. Lady Luck doesn't always smile; he should know better.

He isn't running.


	11. Broken Remnants

**Title:** Broken Remnants (1/1)**  
****Series:** Snowflakes**  
****Characters: **Temperance Brennan, Seeley Booth  
**Rating:** K+ or PG**  
Spoilers: **Through 6x22: The Hole in the Heart  
**Summary:** Just 100 words set post-the-scene-we-didn't-see-on-screen.  
**Disclaimer:** Bones and its characters belong to FOX, not me. This story is purely meant to entertain. No copyright infringement is intended.

**Broken Remnants  
**

Brennan cries, after.

(This isn't the first time he's shouldered her tears; it won't be the last.)

He's coming down, the intensity of orgasm replaced by a cacophony of sound and thought - his staccato heartbeat; his partner's sobs cresting and breaking against him; the weight of all they've lost.

Death has come too soon again, and for the wrong man. Eyes open in the dark, Booth sees red. Man? Vincent was no less a boy than Teddy had been.

* * *

"I'd...like to visit Zack this weekend," she whispers, later.

"Sure, Bones." He smooths her hair. "I'll come with you."

Partners. Always.


End file.
